


Undivide

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Starsky & Hutch (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-06
Updated: 2004-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky is currently of two minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undivide

**Author's Note:**

> Just moving some stuff over from Livejournal.

Starsky is currently of two minds.  
  
The first is oh god Hutch if you don't keep going I might have to actually shoot you, I've got the gun and I just might actually shoot you, and it's accompanied by fingers tangled in blonde hair and an open mouth, lips wet and eyes glazed.  
  
The second is fuck, what are we doing, anyone could see us, Hutch, we're in the goddamn car, _Hutch_ would you just listen to me for a second before you -  
  
This is accompanied by furtive glances out the open window opposite him and occasional too-hard tugs on said blonde hair, and as much as Starsky would like to keep a hold on this, the sane part of his mind, it is not-so-very-slowly slipping away from him.  
  
"Hutch," he hisses, in a vain attempt to regain the part of him capable of rational thought, and Hutch looks up from his cramped position, knees bent to his chest, and the look on his face is as though Starsky _hasn't_ been trying to get his attention for ten minutes now, which is typical and which kind of makes Starsky want to hit him. Or kiss him, he isn't sure which.  
  
"Would you calm _down_ , Starsky?" Hutch asks, a lazy smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He trails his hand down Starsky's bare chest to the fly of Starsky's jeans, and Starsky's hard pressed to keep his head from crashing into the glass of the window behind him. "I promise you," Hutch continues, an infuriatingly teasing note in his voice, his fingers scrabbling at the zipper, "no one is looking at us. Nobody _will_ be looking at us. Nobody even comes back here this late; Huggy makes sure of that."  
  
Starsky coughs, shifts a little, tries to glare and comes up short. "I just don't think -"  
  
"Good! That's good," Hutch interrupts, nodding enthusiastically. "You need to keep doing that." He tugs at the denim covering Starsky's hips and a concentration lines furrow his brow. "Is there a reason these are so tight?" he asks, a low growl rumbling in his throat when the fabric refuses to budge. "I think everybody in Bay City is very clear on the fact that your nuts are yours already."  
  
"Yours are just as tight," Starsky replies defensively, and then he tries to figure out a way to help Hutch without actually helping him at all, because if he lets go of the tiny bit of control he has over the situation he'll be completely lost, and if there's one thing David Starsky hates it's being completely lost.  
  
He settles for lifting his hips off of the seat and he hopes that's not too much voluntary assistance.  
  
"Mine are tight. Yours are like a vice," Hutch mumbles, and then he tugs again, with both hands, and Starsky's jeans go down what is apparently an acceptable amount, because Hutch smiles triumphantly and kisses him. There is a split second in which Starsky considers telling Hutch what he's considered telling Hutch a million times, and then it passes, and he saves the idea for another day.  
  
"We're going," he tells Starsky, working his hand inside Starsky's underwear as well as he can, given their somewhat awkward positions, "to buy you new jeans. Looser jeans. Tomorrow." He groans into Starsky's mouth and Starsky shudders against him.  
  
"Yeah," Starsky mutters, and he realizes he has no idea what he's just agreed to. There's something in the twist of Hutch's wrist and the stuttering hitch of his breathing that always seems to do that to him, makes him forget what's going on, makes him forget everything but Hutch and the here-and-now.  
  
He arches his hips even higher and lets his head drop back as gently as he can against the window. "Oh," he whispers, and then "Hutch," and the brush of Hutch's lips against his skin might be better than anything else in the world, at least right now, which is all he can think about.  
  
He wonders suddenly, belatedly, somewhere in the back of his mind, at what point he had given up any idea of control; and then, with absolute clarity, which he thinks might possibly be related to Hutch's mumbled string of words against his bare shoulder, he decides it doesn't matter, and he decides he doesn't care.  
  
"You too," Starsky whispers, his voice hoarse, and when Hutch raises his head and smiles at him, every other thought clears right out of his mind.


End file.
